Leviathan
by monthefratellis
Summary: They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. A kid with a past washes up in Jump City. The newest member of the Teen Titans has some secrets of her own. *Rated T for bad words* bb/rae and rob/star
1. A Mirror Darkly

Hello, everyone! Right outta the gate, I would like to give an unsolicited shout-out to Diagonal Chains for sticking with me so far! That being said, I've come to a point where the story thus far wasn't proceeding how I envisioned it. Sometimes the only way to move forward is to make a left turn. To that end, I've decided to start completely anew. I have cannibalized my chapters thus far, and have reshuffled some of the best beats into the story going forward. Finally, I must warn that the story is very OC-heavy, to the point that it can be argued the story revolves around my original characters, with the Teen Titans as a backdrop. The first two, three chapters will be extremely OC-heavy and set the stage going forward. There will be plenty of Titan-centric POV chapters, the secondary plot of the series being bbrae, and the tertiary being the fallout from the Terra incident. I'm talking a big game right now, and hopefully I can deliver! I've been playing with this story for some time now, trying to find the best way to tell it. In fact, this chapter has been sitting in my composition book for a year!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

*I do not own the Teen Titans*

...

* * *

Somebody dug the business end of what felt like a snubnose .38 into the back of Levi's skull.

He blinked.

He'd evidently dozed off at some point, sitting there in the alcove of the crummy, hole-in-the-wall bar perched out there over the dark waters of the wharf. It wasn't really his crowd, all pissed-off looking dockhands and stoop-backed stevedores coming off their shifts, just trying to tie one on before they stumbled back to their wives. To be honest, he kind of liked it there, the bar seeming to him like some well-hidden slice of Americana, old-school and unapologetic. He hated the chains, all slick with their focus groups and corporate psychology, their cashdollar feng shui, their _chicken wings. _The joint was poorly lit to the point of dangerousness, the floors were genuine hardwood that croaked like stepping on bullfrogs, and the entire building was permeated by the stale stench of cigarettes. From what he'd gathered, the place had evidently been grandfathered in when all the anti-smoking kooks huffed and puffed and deemed that a bar, god forbid, be a smoke-free environment. It was charming, really, reminding him of all the roadhouses down south he'd passed on his way west, staggered rows of bikes lining the buildings, beat-to-hell pickups parked in fields of dirt, sometimes gravel. Places like that attracted a certain individual, a way of life, Levi knew. And here Levi was, the big tourist, in a strange city, in a bad part of town, in a dive bar he was too young to drink in, half-asleep with a thin line of drool oozing down his chin.

And then there was the business with the man with the gun.

Levi smeared the rest of the saliva against his forearm, checking his watch, an ragged thing on its last days, the cheap, genuine leather band nearly apart, face scuffed and nicked. He supposed it was a reflection of himself, really; shoddily made, the face overly simple (he preferred words like "clean," and "uncluttered"), and infantile, the numbers so big as to be idiot-proof. He clicked his tongue, taking in the room, which he saw was now empty, the bartender dipping out into the kitchen. _Fancy that_.

"And I was starting to think you'd be a no-show," he said, aware of that warm twang in his voice, like a playworn guitar string. "I almost called it quits for the night." The pressure against his skull vanished, and the man slid into the booth, just opposite him. He looked vaguely Greek, Levi taking a shot in the dark, head shaved maybe two weeks ago looked like, and starting to come in again. He kept his beard neatly-trimmed, and had, in Levi's opinion, one of the most punchable noses he'd ever seen. He flicked his chin up at Levi in acknowledgment, his proboscis like a divining rod, as if to the well of Levi's thoughts. The gorilla of a man at his side grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and pressed him firmly into his seat, an action Levi felt was a little forward on the first date, but he neglected to voice his complaint so as not to seem impolite.

"Hands on the table," barked the man's bodyguard, or enforcer, or _whatever_, Levi having little patience for this sort of thing. He complied with the man's plus-one, humoring him, really, although he added a little spur-of-the-moment drum flourish at the end which he felt lightened the mood. The Greek's hands had disappeared under the table, but there was no mistaking the _click _of the hammer cocking below. Levi looked at him, down to the table, and back up to the man.

"Y'know, I didn't figure you the type to shoot a man yourself," he said, realizing he was rolling the dice on this one. " I mean, that's what the help is for, right?" he asked.

"Oh, no," the man said, motioning to the plus-one. "I'm not above getting my hands dirty. I try not to be one of _those guys_, too good to open doors for himself or anything like that. In fact, I'm a little offended by your assumption."

Levi half-smiled.

"If I may, it is actually _so_ refreshing to hear that. You would not believe the folks I've had the supreme displeasure of dealing with in the past. Kinda guys that only travel via chauffeur, need somebody to hold their luggage for them, can't tie their own shoes."

"Oooh," the man winced. "Got me on that one. Mick here is actually my chauffeur. Although that's just one of his many talents." He gave the gorilla a practiced nod, some kind of system they had invented to bridge language barrier, Levi figuring he could pick it up pretty quick. _Nod like this, guy's arm get broken. Nod like that, no more guy._

The man grunted, peeling back his poly-blend blazer to reveal, twin .45s holstered 80's detective style under his jacket. From the look of the man—220 pounds of muscle and violence stuffed into a cheap men's Big&amp;Tall—it wasn't that much of a stretch to think he preferred to let his knuckles have the last word. Still, Levi now knew what the man was packing, exactly what he was capable of. The man was revealing his hand, one card at a time, and by the looks of things, there was no ace up this joker's sleeve.

"Easy, Mick," Levi said. "This is just a friendly conversation. No reason to bring out the toys." The Greek shifted restlessly in his seat, placing his left arm on the table. His right still remained hidden.

"Who says this isn't a friendly conversation?" he asked, a self-satisfied grin on his face, looking to his bodyguard as if he was expecting a giggle, Levi thinking he would pay not to see that.

"Well, you _are _pointing a gun at my crotch," Levi confessed.

"You rather I point it at your face?" the man asked, smug as all get-out.

"Well, _yeah_, actually," Levi said. "Though I'd rather you not point it at all."

"That depends on you, doesn't it? On how friendly this conversation stays?"

"I'd say that's about the measure of it, yeah," Levi said, reaching for the drink he'd been ignoring all night. The bodyguard eyed him coolly, wishing he'd try something. It was simply water; no one had given him any fuss when he'd entered (at least not until he had started to grill the bartender, ask him to get the head honcho over here), but he was still a ways south of twenty-one, and didn't feel the need to push. The ice had melted, which he didn't mind. He hated ice in his drinks, felt like it watered down a perfectly good soda, as well as taking up perfectly usable space. He finished his pull and _clinked _the glass down a little harder than he'd intended. "So, as you've probably heard," he said, reclining lazily into his red pleather seat, "I've got some questions I'd like to run by you, Sal."

"_Shoot_," he said, Levi not helping but smiling at the man's choice of words. "I mean, I get a call this afternoon, got Tony babbling in my ear, saying some little punk's asking questions after me. Gets me worried, right? With the Titans cracking down lately? Crazyness."

_Tony the bartender_, Levi remembering. Cat with the grey hair and half-rim glasses. Probably even now hiding in the kitchen, listening to their every word.

"To be honest, I was counting on him to call you up," Levi said, grabbing his glass again, polishing it off. "Though, I did expect a speedier response. My sleep schedule's been so out of whack lately, I musta zonked right out. Pretty embarrassing."

"Yeah," Sal agreed. "'Specially when I got your gun."

"I noticed that," Levi said, feeling the phantom weight of his empty hip holster, now wondering if the man had his own gun pointed at him under the table, which would have been stupid, given it held no bullets, but, hey, maybe he had never bothered to check. Still, it hadn't felt like his piece when the barrel was jammed up against his skull. After all, it had been there enough times before.

"Anyways," he said, "why don't you say what you gotta say, and then I'll say my bit, and we'll see where we stand."

"Groovy," he said, trying to rehearse the little spiel he'd cooked up earlier, and true to form, forgotten. He cleared his throat. "Alright, look. So, it's like this: people are getting cut up out in the streets. Vagrants. Druggies and squatters, mostly. That type. People disappearing. Whispers and such of dark forces in the night, and yadda, yadda, yadda. And this is all taking place in your backyard from what I gather. I need to know everything you know. Names, places, all that smooth jazz." Sal nodded along as he spoke, very patronizingly, and Levi did his best to not lose his cool. Levi managed to finish his speech without punching the guy in the face, which he figured was a victory in his book.

"Alright," Sal said. "Here's my response." He dredged his arm out from underneath the cloth and set it on the table, gun pointed squarely at Levi, center mass, Levi noticing he'd reset the hammer, a good sign. He'd called it earlier: a functional-looking snubnosed .38 special. He wondered where his piece had wandered off to, guessing either he or the gorilla had it, probably stuffed in their pants.

"Cute," he said, eyes narrowing, vaguely aware of how angry this joker was making him. He had to pump the brakes, quick. He couldn't afford to get his blood up, let the demon out.

"Now, what am I supposed to do here? Some punk kid coming into my neighborhood and demanding all kinds of—well, let's face it," he shrugged, "_incriminating_ information about my enterprise?" He laughed, showing off his impressive whites. Say what you would about him, Levi figured, the man kept good hygiene habits. He looked liked he flossed on the daily. When was the last time Levi had flossed? And, God, did he say _enterprise_? Nothing like a three syllable word to hide the truth. A look at him was enough. Levi could guess the type, thug du jour, an upjumped hood with just enough business savvy to seize a few blocks. _Enterprise_. A good word to make a man feel important. "Get outta here," he said, in that hokey, mobster voice. Levi snorted.

"Jesus, for a second there I thought you were gonna hit me with a '_fuhgettaboutit_.' You really got that whole gangster thing down, don't you?" The plus-one shot the boss a quick look, hungry for the nod to smack him around a little, teach him some manners and such and so forth and so on, he knew the beats of this story pretty well. The nod never came, and Levi pressed on, pretty sure things were about to come to a head. "Sal, I need you to listen up. I'm after a big fish here. Your … _enterprise _means less than nothing to me. Now granted, I'm gonna be morally obligated to take you down after I sort this mess out, but you're probably good for a week or two. A month tops. That's plenty of time to get packing and get out of town. So, in a roundabout way, I'm making you an offer you can refuse," he said, regretting the words as they left his mouth, figuring for a minute that maybe he was the idiot and Sal was the genuine article. _Maybe it really is infectious_. "A get-out-of-an-ass-kicking-free card, in exchange for whatever info you got. Info, which—even though I'm sure you don't care—will save a lot of lives. Maybe even yours," he added. "So, I think you're gonna help me. Not to help your fellow man, but to save your own skin." Levi leaned in about as close as he could, the table biting into his gut, Sal's piece shoved into his collar bone. He smiled, which was probably overdoing it, but, hey, he'd come this far already. "So, whaddaya say?"

This time, Sal gave the nod.

The man snatched Levi by the scruff of his neck and wrenched his arm around behind him. He drove Levi's skull into the table, hard enough to cause the glassware to jump and topple over, staining the linen. He dug his forearm into the groove at the back of Levi's neck, pinning him over the table. Sal collected himself, adjusting the lapel of his coat and jabbed his gun into Levi's forehead several times.

"I don't know what it is with this place. You got kids running around trying to play hero. Craziness."

"I know, right?" Levi agreed, looking up at the man. "This whole town is certifiable."

"Something in the water," Sal said, cocking the hammer back again. The sound that followed was not what Levi expected.

There was a crash outside, the sounds of exertion, men—at least three of them—fighting. The gorilla gave Sal some kind of face, and Sal jabbed Levi again.

"They yours?" he asked, what sounded like the tenor of cold panic in his voice. Was that sweat Levi saw building on the man's temple?

"Don't think so," he answered, just a bit more wiseass than he'd intended. He had no partners, no cavalry to gallop to his rescue. He was alone in this world. Outside, the scuffle died abruptly, punctuated by the heavy _thud_ of what sounded like a whole lot of man hitting the dirt. Sal leveled his gun at the entrance. The gorilla was stuck, he knew, pinning Levi down. If he went for his gun, he figured Levi would make his move. A tick-tock minute came and went, their eyes still on the front door. Levi watched the man ghost in from the side door, a clever little entrance. The guy was good.

"Am I interrupting something?" the man asked, cooler than an ice cube. Sal looked to jump out of his skin, and wheeled around to plant his gun on the dude. Levi got a pretty good image of the man, despite his face being ground into the table. He was lanky, rough-looking, on the wrong side of his 40's, Levi guessing. Hair salt-and-pepper and slicked back into a greasy ducktail. His clothes looked slept-in, black slacks and a white button-up, crinkled paisley tie worn loose and haphazard, top button unbuttoned, but he wouldn't fault him for it, doing the same whenever he had the rare occasion to wear one, all of that under a beaten-up camel hair coat it looked like he'd thrown on minutes ago. His face was hard, frown lines chiseled in over the years, eyes like dark, recessed pits. Guy had missed a shave or two, as well. He was also training a 9mm on Sal's sternum, arguably the most important takeaway.

"Yeah, actually," Sal hissed, doing his damndest not to look like he'd just been caught with his pants around his ankles, "but we were just about to finish up here." Sal's eyes narrowed on the man, sizing him up like a menu and he'd forgotten his reading glasses. "I know you from somewhere?" he asked.

"Maybe I just have one of those faces," the man said, letting his hand drape over his hip. He casually drew back the flap of his coat, revealing a dull, gold JCPD badge clipped to his belt. _This is getting interesting_. The plus-one definitely saw it, his eyes betraying him. Sal played the stoic. The mystery pistolero tread deliberately towards them, closing the gap between them to only a few feet. Sal started to step back instinctively, fear reaction most like, but caught himself, not wanting to show weakness.

"One of those faces, huh?" Sal said, to himself more than anything. "So what happens next, Mr … ?"

"Lupino," the man said. "_Detective _Lupino," he added, the word seeming to fill the room. "You put down the gun, let the kid go."

"Kid?" Levi mumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Follow my logic here, detective," Sal began. "See, I got this gun in my hand. And I'm pretty sure if I don't plug you full of holes, my guy here'll do that for me. That's pretty much a no-win scenario for you. You see where I'm coming from?"

"I can see why you'd think that," the man answered. "But I'll put you down deader than dead you go for that trigger. And by the time that happens, I doubt your man there will be even able to hold a gun with the broken arm he's about to get." That brought a worried look from the bodyguard, who tightened his grip on Levi's arm, shoving him down harder. He was starting to spook, it seemed.

"How do you figure that?" Sal asked behind a purely for-show smile.

"Well, all these super-powered teenagers running around the city. You know what they can do. I got a fiver in my pocket says your boy is holding onto one of them right now. I can only assume this won't end well." Levi ground his teeth. This guy was blowing up his spot, taking away his element of surprise. The bodyguard's grip tightened even harder, Levi not imagining the sweat on his hands as it began to form, dripping onto him. Sal shook his head angry, fed up.

"So I'll just have to get both of you then," he said. Levi was starting to lose control of the situation, he could see. Things were about to turn.

"Wouldn't do that," Levi and the detective said in unison.

"Why not?!" Sal hissed, his teeth clenched. He'd turned his head slightly towards Levi, and that was all it had taken.

Lupino surged forward, clearing the distance between them in a step. He wrenched the gun out of Sal's hand, and it slid across the floor. He shoved the barrel up under Sal's chin, coaxing it upwards, the man frozen, doing his best not to stare down at the barrel of the gun.

"Because I'll put a bullet in your brain the second you try it," Lupino said. The bodyguard was still, his whole body clenched. Levi clicked his tongue.

"Y'know," Levi began, "this might actually be my first Mexican standoff. Cool, huh?"

"It's pretty cool," the detective drawled, never taking his eyes off Sal, the discount gangster's flesh practically sizzling from the heat of his gaze. Levi wasn't even sure he'd seen the man blink yet. Levi felt the weight of the bodyguard shift just slightly, carefully. He was going to go for his gun. Levi wouldn't give him the chance. He shot the detective a conspiratorial wink.

Levi made his move, throwing his supernatural strength back against the man. He bucked hard, slamming the man back against the wall hard enough to splinter the paneling. Sal freaked and tried to juke left, Lupino backhanding him with his piece, causing the man to drop like someone had cut his strings. Levi slipped out of the booth and got his hands on the bodyguard's wide shoulders. He shoved him out onto the floor, the man colliding with a table and toppling it over, before he caught his footing. Levi took a step towards him when the man burst out from behind the bar with a shotgun. Tony, looked like. He was racking in a load when he glanced up to see Lupino already on top of him. He pawed the barrel away as the man managed a single, wild shot that struck the liquor shelves behind them, the bar exploding in a shower of glass and booze. Lupino finally got control of the gun, yanked it away, and bashed the guy hard enough in the temple to make Levi wince. The bodyguard didn't know when to quit, thinking he'd try him one last time. He threw all his muscle into trying to tackle Levi, who for his part, merely sidestepped him, glassing the man with a half-drained (he was a pessimist fancying himself a realist) pint glass as he went. He went down hard, falling into a heap of himself as he stopped. Meanwhile, Sal was trying to slink away, scrambling over an overturned stool. Lupino gave him a good kick to convince him otherwise, the stool going out from under him.

"Going somewhere?" Levi asked, removing the pistols from the seemingly unconscious man's jacket. His piece was nowhere to be scene. "Because I'm pretty sure you were going to answer some questions for me."

"I thought that was my shtick" said the detective, now half-soaked in booze. Somehow, Levi got the impression that it wasn't such an uncommon occurrence.

"I guess we can play nice for the time being," Levi said, wondering what the dude's deal was. "Now Sal, back to what I asked you before all this. Folks missing, dead. Your territory. Any of this ring a bell?" The detective shot Levi a cool, level glance. It was obvious to see the red flags as they popped in his head. He was trying to reckon Levi's place in this business, and from the passing look he gave him, Levi took it to be somewhere in the center.

"Sounds like you already know everything," Sal finally said, looking up at them.

"Humor me," Levi said. "I know one of your cookhouses got hit."

"Down on the wharf?" Lupino asked, chewing on that for a moment. Sal nodded.

"Time I got there," Levi explained, "place was infested. Teeth everywhere," Levi said, the very vivid images intruding into his thoughts. Maybe the room grew colder, or maybe it didn't, Levi imagining. "Your guy were _turned_. Changed. You must've heard something secondhand from one of your boys that escaped. Let's compare notes." Sal listened intently, seeming to grow paler. He finally spoke.

"People have been disappearing for weeks," he said. "Not just my guys, but homeless, too. Street people." _Folks with no one to miss them,_ Levi knew.

"So, what's the word on the street?" Levi asked. "Any heavy-hitters roll into town lately? Bad-news guys with stories behind them?" The man grew even paler somehow, like the words were choking him coming out.

"I've heard things …" he said, not looking at them anymore.

"What kinds of things?" Lupino asked, hard to read.

"There's this … _guy_," he said, the word cautious, like he was afraid uttering his name would invite the demon into the room. And knowing the guy in question, that was a very real possibility. "Supposed to be this real scary dude. Mixed up in all kinds of … _occult _shit."

"Does this 'scary dude' have a name?" Lupino asked. Levi realized he'd been holding his breath.

"_Ash_," Levi whispered, the detective giving him that sidelong look again. "How do I find him?" Levi growled. _He was close_.

"I-I don't know!" Sal blurted. "I only know he's supposed to be in town! I don't know anything else," he said, trying to crawl away from him.

"I don't believe you," Levi said, advancing on the man. "Give me something I can _use_," he said, or rather thought he said, the voice somehow a stranger's hiss, a cobra's promise.

"N-n-north!" Sal said, like a fish flopping on the deck now, aware of its fate. "The old c-c-cannery on the north side!" he screamed at Levi, as though the words were a physical buffer between them, a shield that would protect him. _It wouldn't_. Levi took another step forward.

A hand grabbed him firmly on the shoulder. Levi stopped, Lupino stepping out between them.

"That's all, folks," he said. "You got what you came for," he told Levi, who didn't argue. "I'll call it in," Lupino said, producing his cell from his coat.

"My gun," Levi said, moving towards Sal. Lupino stuck his finger out, a warning; _Stay the hell away from him_. He crouched down, opened the man's blazer, and found Levi's revolver tucked in the man's pants. Levi nodded, and the man snatched it. He broke the action open, seeing it it wasn't loaded. _It never was_. Satisfied, he tossed it to Levi.

"Damn thing's not even loaded," he said, eying the the Schofield's seven-inch barrel with disgust, Levi almost feeling embarrassed by his choice in gun, a kid playing cowboy. "Ridiculous gun."

They hadn't seen the bodyguard moving, hadn't paid attention to where Sal's gun had landed earlier. The man surged to his feet, pointed the gun at them. Levi didn't hesitate, extending his own piece at the man. Before anyone could react, he shot the gun out of the man's hand and put one in his arm for good measure. The man crashed backwards into another table, pulling it down with him. Lupino didn't react, didn't do much of anything, just stared Levi down incredulously.

"Magic fingers" Levi explained, holstering his piece.

* * *

They were five minutes outside the bar when Lupino spoke up.

"That business with your gun," he said, conjuring a pack of Marlboro Reds, cigarette blooming in his canines. He watched the man thumb his lighter, an old silver thing he slammed shut with a flick of his wrist. He took a long drag, as if searching for answers at the end of his smoke, "What the hell was that?" he finally asked, exhaling a cool nimbus that died in the wind. He took another pull, and before long, he was already down to the filter.

"Gun's just a conduit for my powers," Levi sighed, not looking to play twenty questions. Hopefully the detective was a good listener because he couldn't stand to repeat himself. "No bullets, nobody gets killed. No muss, no fuss. Gun helps me focus my energies, juju, whatever you want to call it." Lupino nodded, but didn't seem particularly satisfied by the explanation. It was Levi's turn, now. "Why'd you crash the party at Tony's Bar?"

"I was thirsty," he answered, the artful dodger. "Why the gun? Anything else work?"

"Gee, never thought about it before," Levi drawled at him, not appreciating him sidestepping the question like a beggar on the streets. He was expecting a snapback from the man, which never came. "Don't rightly know," Levi finally answered, burying his hands in his pockets. "Just feels right." Lupino spared him a glance over his shoulder as they walked. Levi was relatively tall at his age, scraping six feet in his shitkickers, but the man still looked down on him by a few inches.

"You were playing a dangerous game back there, kid," he said. _And here it comes. The speech_, Levi thought. He figured he'd jump right out in front of that particular train, drive his shoulder into it, see if he could derail it.

"I'm not the only one," he said, almost absentmindedly. The detective took the bait.

"Hell's that supposed to mean?" Lupino asked, hard to read.

"Back there in the bar, you didn't call in anything on that cell of yours, cheap little flip-phone. Burner if I ever saw one. Methinks you're not a cop," Levi said, perhaps more harshly than he intended. If the comment had registered with Lupino, he gave no indication. Maybe he'd put a toe over the line on that one. People weren't really his forte. "At least, not anymore," Levi said, backpedalling.

"We're here," the man said, ignoring him, them turning the corner. Levi guessed immediately which car was Lupino's.

"Think I'll just walk," Levi said, trying to get a rise out of him. Levi's car was two miles in the opposite direction, but the "detective" had insisted they talk, said he'd drive him to his own car, which he was pretty sure would make the man raise an eyebrow. He'd said _sure, _ still not quite sure what to make of the man, a feeling he was sure was mutual.

"Wife got the Rolls in the divorce," he said, producing the key fob from his coat pocket. "And I changed my mind. We're taking a spin around the block."

"Shouldn't there be a 'please' attached to that?" Levi said, crossing his arms.

"You can put a cherry on top for all you want," he said, "but you're riding with me. I've got more questions for you," he said, heel grinding his spent filter into the asphalt.

"Questions like what?" Levi asked, leaning into the passenger side, watching the detective clear him out some room. Lupino's ride was a late nineties sedan, an ugly tan-gold that reminded him vaguely of his grandmother. The car was stuffed with boxes, luggage, clothes on hangers strung up from the side handles, the entire backseat off-limits. As he stared at the inside of the car, the picture suddenly grew a lot clearer. The best lies often held a grain of truth. The detective had never so much as ridden in a Rolls, but it was clear he was living out of his car. He looked at the man again, not able to shake the feeling he was seeing a reflection of himself, the features warped and blurry, but still recognizable. The detective was looking at him now, seeing the scene play out behind Levi's eyes. He felt vaguely guilty now, felt like he should say something, offer his condolences, for whatever it was worth.

"Nice place you got here," was what came out of his mouth. He slid in shotgun, kicked his feet up on the dash. Lupino gave him a level, annoyed look, but said nothing. They were on the road when he finally spoke.

"What are you doing in my city?" he asked. From another person, the words might've sounded like a threat, a line drawn in the sand. From him, it was just straight, no-nonsense question. Levi didn't owe the man anything, he knew. He'd had the situation completely under control before he'd arrived, ostensibly saving the day. His business was his business. But still, if you asked him at the moment, _yeah_, he kinda liked the guy. He wasn't about to share his life story, but he could play ball for the next five minutes.

"I'm looking for somebody," Levi said, pressing his temple against the glass, watching the buildings pass by.

"They lost, or just don't want to be found?" Lupino lit another cigarette, rolled his window down.

"Suppose it's a little of both."

"This 'Ash' guy of yours?" _That name_. Levi clenched and unclenched his fist, not looking at the detective. "What's he to you?"

The cigarette in his mouth had wilted by the time Levi answered him, his words careful, dredged from the darkest trench of his soul.

"A ghost," he said finally. Lupino was having none of it.

"How wonderfully vague," he muttered. The man was tired, Levi realized. Tired in his bones. They made quite the pair indeed. "You going to follow up that lead about the cannery on the north side?" he asked.

"Yes," Levi answered. "You going to try and stop me?"

"Nope," the detective sighed, easing up on a red light. He spared him a look as they idled there, one that asked _Do I need to?_ Levi looked away.

"My car's just around the corner," he said, pointing.

* * *

...

Chapter one! Much of chapter two will be centered around my female OC, the second major POV character. One of the main reasons I decided to start over is because I felt like I wasn't doing justice to her, as she wasn't originally a POV character. I kept thinking about an _It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia_ commentary I had seen many years beforehand, and how they admitted they had mishandled Dee early on, and (and I'm quoting from memory here) "fell into the familiar trap of writing female characters." That really struck me to the point where I decided to give the story a massive overhaul. Hopefully it all pays off. Thanks for reading!


	2. Calm Before the Storm

_Kept ya' waiting, huh?_

*I do not own the Teen Titans*

...

* * *

It was getting late now, the sun ripe and bloated, half-swallowed by the ocean. California was something else; the strong October winds suggesting a cooler winter than she would have believed possible, climate change being funny like that. Images of hardpacked snow blanketing the city came to mind, her dismissing them as adolescent foolishness, her picturing a fine layer of powder coating the Tower, comically gargantuan icicles hanging from the arms of the giant T standing sentinel out there on the bay. She heard the alien girl approach, not an easy feat given she literally floated through the air. Were it not for the sound of her boots padding softly as she touched down, one may never have known the girl was there at all.

"Ava," the girl began, her tone not unlike the one used to inform a patient of some kind of terminal disease. "Forgive me, but you seem to have been especially distant today ..." she said, Ava turning around to face the girl. She didn't like seeing the Tamaranian like this; Starfire's infectious positivity was all but gone now, and in its place was something she couldn't or wouldn't as easily identify. _Worry_? For _her_?

"Whoa, easy, Star," she said, her hands up now, waving at her, a gesture meant to assure her nothing was wrong, but came off more as an act of surrender. "I'm fine. _Really_," she lied, something—to her horror—had become a second nature by now. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm just not feeling so good today, you know?" That last part wasn't strictly a lie, she knew, also knowing that the best lies held a grain of truth.

"Sorry if I am being too nosy," she began, clearly undaunted, "but it just seems that lately you are having the troubles fitting in with the team." Ava could read it on her face now, in those big puppy-dog eyes of hers that held not a trace of guile. "If it is perhaps _me _that is the problem, then maybe friend Raven—"

"No!" She found herself saying, grabbing the girl's shoulder. "I swear, Star, it isn't you." She gave the girl's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and sure enough, the light finally returned to her eyes. "I'm just in a funk right now. I don't know what to say." The look of befuddlement was plainly written on her face. Evidently, her choice of expression had thrown the girl. "What I mean to say is that I'll be all better soon, Star. Thanks for your concern."

"It is no trouble," the girl said, smiling. It was her eyes that gave her away. Maybe she'd given the girl too little credit. But it was there, written in the corners if you knew where to look. She knew she was lying. "Please feel free to speak with me anytime."

* * *

Ava passed Beast Boy in the hallway, an everyday occurrence were it not for the fact that he was lingering silently outside the demon's room. The two spared each other a look and a nod in quiet agreement before parting ways. It was no secret the pair had been arguing more than usual as of late, Ava wondering if he was attempting to apologize for his latest sleight, one of his famous practical jokes gone awry. And Beast Boy in typical fashion, was making a mess out of it, unable to even knock on her door it seemed. Raven could certainly be an intimidating presence, she knew. She tried to minimize their interaction, more so than with the rest of Titans, who, despite herself and her training, she had grown to recognize as the closest things to friends she had ever known. Other than her father, she realized. But the demon was a different story altogether. If pressed, she could act well enough to feign making nice with the girl, but she could not risk becoming too close to her especially, too attached. She wondered if Starfire realized this, wondered if this was the reason for their girl-talk earlier.

Ava made it back to her room, or well, _her _room, the other girl's poltergeist still there somehow, intangible yet more real than she. The door _whoosh_ed shut behind her, and she finally found herself alone, more so than usual. Though she'd been with the team almost three months now, she'd never gotten around to redecorating. She flipped the light switch, and there it was, the other girl's room. The only word that fit was _tragic_. The entire space was done up in an awful country-western motif, the walls painted in desert murals, cacti under the night sky. The whole affair had a _Home-on-the-Range_-y feel, feeling like a child's room, missing only a racecar bed. Or in this instance, she figured, a wagon bed. Though to be fair, she understood the Titans themselves had painted this for the girl. She imagined Robin, as clueless as ever, with his paintbrush, goaded on by Starfire, whose—God bless her—sense of style was a bit garish for her taste. Not to say that Ava's fashion sense was any better. She kept very little belongings, thinking that the room still looked almost exactly the way it did when the girl had left. In fact, if you held up a before-and-after picture, she doubted she would be able to tell the difference. It was like she never existed. She suddenly felt a lot more understanding of the girl, this _traitor_. Though the Titans didn't speak of her much, it was plain to see the damage she had wrought. She'd been like a cancer, eating the team alive from the inside. Now all that was left of the girl was simply her absence; a hole in their lives the shape of one scrawny teenage girl with bad taste in interior design.

Ava spent the next few minutes splashing water on her face. She didn't wear makeup. There was no point, really; nothing could hide the scar tracing up from under her chin to end halfway up her left temple, not that she really minded it. It was her badge of honor. The hair still wouldn't grow there, and she kept it short, the sides shaved, not conventionally attractive, but more practical in a fight, of which there had never been any shortages of her entire life. Not that she would ever have considered herself a model to begin with, her face and body boyish and lean. She splashed more water on her face, but it wasn't working. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the pervading feeling of guilt that sat in her stomach like a hard stone. This double life was killing her. It had almost been easy at the beginning. It was the _mission_. But she'd done the very thing her father had warned her about. She'd realized it weeks ago; she was starting to become attached to the team. And that would make her mission all the more difficult.

* * *

Beast Boy had been standing outside Raven's door for fifteen minutes now. He was wearing a watch. He'd almost gathered the courage to knock, when Ava appeared at the end of the hallway. She must have seen the desperation on his face, for she said nothing, the pair merely trading an awkward nod in silence as she left.

He'd really screwed up this time. Come to think of it, had he had never seen Raven this angry before. Well, not four-eyes angry, but _still_, this was somehow much worse. This time, she was angry at _him_. Sure, he'd pranked her in the past, but this was different. This time, she had just been a casualty, receiving an errant water balloon meant for Cyborg. _Collateral damage_. He'd stared at her in horror for a moment before the girl simply vanished, phasing through the ceiling. But not before flinging him across the room with her powers, naturally. He sighed.

He wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but it felt like all they did lately was fight. She'd grown so distant these past few weeks, not that Beast Boy had handled the situation well himself, allowing himself to grow more annoyed in the process. All he wanted to do was make her feel at home, but every time he tried, she either bit his head off, or just completely brushed him away. It made him angry, he realized, now becoming angry at himself for being angry. Why was this so _hard_? Sure, they could never have been described as particularly chummy in the past, but he was her _friend_. And what scared the hell out of him was the feeling he got that she didn't feel the same way. It must've been his fault. It was always his fault. He was annoying, he knew. And as much as he hated to admit it, his jokes sucked. It all added up, really. It was no mystery why the girl had always been so cold to him. Beast Boy was just … _Beast Boy_, a nuisance. That's all he'd ever be. He sighed. Either way, friend or not, he owed the girl an apology.

His hand was over her door now. All he had to do was bring his fist down. All he needed were two words—I'm sorry—and that was it. He could could walk back to his room, and things would be back to normal tomorrow, Beast Boy being annoying, and Raven hiding behind one of her books. Still, he couldn't bring himself to knock, his hand fearing the door as it would a hot stove. Why was this so _hard_?

Beast Boy jumped when the alarm exploded, the sound filling the hallway. Before he could regain his composure, Raven's door _whoosh_ed open before him, the girl standing directly in front of him now. She shot him a level look.

"What are you doing out here, Beast Boy?" she asked, crossing her arms. If looks could kill, he would have been six feet under already. He flinched.

"The, uh, alarm went off," he articulated, laughing nervously.

"So I heard," she said, eyes narrowing. "Is there something you wanted to say to me, Beast Boy?" Raven asked impatiently. She was giving him just enough rope to hang himself with.

"Better get moving," he suggested, motioning for the two of them to head down the hallway.

"Whatever," she sighed, brushing past him, Beast Boy watching her disappear down the hallway.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, her cape disappearing around the corner.

* * *

Ava made a quick slash at her phantom attacker before ducking into a low roll. She came up on her feat, parrying a broad slash that would've caught her in the chest, before feinting, then delivering a sharp riposte to finish him off. Using the advantage she had given him, her next attacker made for her flank, thinking to catch her off guard. She'd expected this, and as surefooted as ever, danced around his strike with a nimble pirouette. He made a long, curving slash at her next. She deflected it almost lazily. Angry now, her attacker rushed her, trying to use his momentum to bowl her over. She sidestepped him with all the flair of a matador, raking her blade casually across the man's calf as she did. The leg collapsed under him as she went, and the man came to the ground. She raised her blade over her head, prepared to deliver the killing blow, when the alarm exploded. The klaxons bleated angrily, a blinking red light casting the space in dark gloom. She looked around the room, playing out the imaginary fight again. Though she trained daily, she found the best way to hone her considerable skill was through actual combat; real-world scenarios where anything could happen at any time. She sheathed her sword in an easy motion, harnessing it on her back. She found her mask, originally used for dueling, and now extensively modified, and set it casually on her head. She made for the door.

Ava came to the living room, the central command center of the building where most of the action took place. She found half the team gathered before her, Robin and Cyborg staring at a blown-up image of Jump City on the gigantic projection that stretched all the way across the front wall. Starfire hovered nearby, watching the scene with silent interest. Robin glanced backwards over his shoulder to greet her, motioning her towards the screen. The demon was next, followed later by Beast Boy, skulking down the hallway. Evidently, his apology hadn't gone well.

"Trouble," Robin said, grunting at the display. "Some kind of disturbance downtown. Shipping district."

Ava felt her fists tighten. It was impossible, but somehow she _knew_. It was _him_. The demon her father had warned her about. She'd been preparing for this day, honing her skills, and sharpening her mind as well as her sword. _You have to do it_, her father had told her. _It's the only way._ She had understood her father well enough, had seen firsthand the horrors of which the demons had been capable of. But the girl was something different entirely. _And what about Raven?_ she had asked him, the naked fear in her voice then. _In time_, her father had said, reassuring her. _You must be unwavering. _Unwavering is what she would be. She _had _to be. It was the only way to save everyone. And if that meant slaying the both of them, so be it.

"What are we waiting for?" Ava asked, the sword almost weightless in her hands.

* * *

Levi pulled up at an abandoned construction yard just across the street from the old warehouse. He killed the engine of his '72 Chevelle and stepped outside the car. He'd been chewing on what Lupino had said last as he'd driven him back from the bar. _This ain't no life for a kid_, he had mumbled from one side of his mouth, a cigarette wilting in the other. He was right, Levi knew, in the same intangible way he knew the world was round and hurtling through space at a million miles an hour. Just because something was a fact, didn't mean it _meant_ a damn thing. What the hell did Lupino know about anything, anyway? He'd known his type instantly; the failed cop and successful alcoholic. Any advice he tried to give Levi was best taken with a grain of salt and a twist of lime. Still, Levi liked him. Maybe he saw a bit of himself in the old man, a thought that should be terrifying, he knew.

He kept his hand over his holster as he crossed the street, eyes scanning the complex. The place was old and run down, building half-eaten by termites and coated in graffiti, all the windows blacked out. The real point of interest was the tent city that had sprang up around the building. As he crouched in through a tear in the fence, he saw the ramshackle structures at once, tiny huts built out of metal sheeting and construction plastic. Mansions of blue tarp and old lumber, rotted mattresses and borrowed shopping carts as far as the eye cared to see. He spotted the odd gas-powered generator or two lying around, which seemed like some kind of relative luxury. Levi strolled through the patchwork labyrinth, eerily empty he realized, dodging trash and used needles as he went. He'd expected to run into someone by now, the whole place a den of homeless and users, the two words often synonymous in his book. As far as signs went, this was a bad one.

He couldn't help but feel for the poor bastards as he made his way deeper onto the grounds. The invisible hand of the economy hung over the place like a hungry ghost. It was a rough life, if you could call it that, being marginalized to the point of living in such incredible squalor. Hidden from behind the property fence, most people wouldn't notice. Hell, most people'd break their necks not to look at you anyway, you pushing your little buggy down the street, wearing the one shirt you owned, which didn't really hide the track marks so hot. Such was the comedy of life. He supposed it was some minor consolation that everyone here was most likely dead by now.

All Levi could hear on his approach was the rustling of the wind, kicking up trash everywhere, bowling over cans and sending loose paper skittering over the grounds. He didn't see or hear any seagulls flying around, which was odd, considering the proximity to the wharf. He decided not to entertain that particular implication. He caught a good whiff of the place just ten paces off He could taste it in the air, whatever it was, something sick, jungly, and pungent. But underneath, hints of sulfur. _Brimstone_. Notes of gasoline, too, he was able to pick out.

There was a hole in the side of the building, hastily covered by a filthy wooden pallet. Above it was graffiti'd what looked like _Heisenberg Lives!_ in fat bubble letters almost illegible. He sighed, shoving the pallet aside and crouching down to worm his way through the tear in the wall. He made it inside, the light dying maybe a foot in, the sun liable to go down pretty soon anyway. Not that the darkness bothered him. Really, it was more like the other way around.

Levi willed his eyes to readjust, and he made out the room, some old office, all toppled filing cabinets and overturned shelves. There was another rotted mattress in the corner, covered in mystery stains of questionable provenance. He nearly bumped his head on a hanging fluorescent tube that had sprung loose from the ceiling, along with a bundle of wires. He found a workbench set up in the corner with tubes, beakers, and other drug paraphernalia, which put things into perspective. The whole place was a drug lab, it seemed. It certainly explained the generators he spied on the way in, and the stench of gasoline needed to run the whole operation. Who knew how many more workbenches were scattered throughout the joint? Something scurried past his left foot.

Levi made a sharp pivot, drawing his gun on the fattest rat he'd ever seen, toe striking an emptied beer bottle and sending it rattling across the floor. Levi winced, not liking the acoustics of the place as it echoed impossibly loud. He kept his gun out for a minute, seeing if he had stirred anything up.

_Nothing._

He holstered his piece and made his way down the hallway. He tried to keep his steps as ginger as possible, and didn't do that great a job, his heavy shitkickers not doing him any favors on the dusty, hardwood floors. The smell of the place was overwhelming now, a smell of rot and moisture, viscera and earth. The further in he got, the more he noticed the walls, discovering they were spotted with what looked like some kind of hairy lichen. He turned a corner, and there was an explosion of the stuff splashed all over the walls, some kind of fleshy moss the color of rotten flesh. The moss gave off a sickly heat the deeper he went, seeming to pulse every now and then, as though blood were being pumped through the building itself. It hung in clumps from the ceiling that he took care to avoid, not wanting to touch the stuff. There was a noise, too, a low _hum _to the place not unlike a heartbeat.

When he finally emerged into the main floor of the warehouse, he nearly gagged. The entire room was coated in the fleshy substance, which had spread like wildfire throughout the complex. Crates filled the room as far as he could see, stacked up three floors to the ceiling, where walkways and rafters bisected the space. There was no natural light entering the room, which was fortunate, as he wouldn't wish this sight on anyone. Thick tendrils of fleshy muscle sprouted from fissures in the floor, evidently erupting from the basement. To his bemusement, he saw a ropey tentacle slither out from behind a crate of canned tuna, before wrapping itself around it like an angry boa constrictor. It coiled around the crate and began to squeeze deliberately. The box gave way quickly, splintering open, but the tendril didn't stop there, and kept squeezing. Rancid meat erupted from the crate, spraying everywhere. The tentacle retracted as if in surprise, then shot back, lapping the meat off the ground with it's suckers, beak-like mouths filled with serrated teeth that snapped open and shut with rapid _click-click-click_s that made his skin crawl and the fine hairs on his neck stand up. He felt the presence behind him immediately.

The tentacle slithered up from an unseen hole in the floor just behind him, unwrapping itself. It came up to eye level, so close he could've reached out and grabbed it. It hovered there for a moment, thick vines of some viscous, slimy fluid clinging to it like ropes of spit. The tendril rotated, and began to turn its head quizzically at him, as if sizing him up. He watched in fascination as the head slowly bloomed, and now he could see much further down into the mouth of the tentacle, hundreds of rows of shivering needle teeth dripping with saliva. He felt he finally understood now what had happened to the building's previous occupants.

When the tentacle finally shot forward, it was as if the entire building began to shake, laughing at him.

* * *

...

Achievement Unlocked: Complete Chapter Two on any difficulty.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The _Heisenberg Lives!_ line is a reference to one of my earlier works, a very elaborate crossover between Teen Titans and Breaking Bad. Yeah, that was a weird period of my life.


	3. Atlas With a Bum Knee

Finally got some time to do some writing, guys. I pretty much have no free time nowadays, but I managed to scrape together just enough today to get this churned out.

* * *

The bulb of the tendril exploded in black ichor when Levi's shot caught it. The noxious substance sprayed directly into his eyes, and he found himself stumbling backwards, face aflame. He tried to blink the thick, filmy blood out of his eyes, as he raised his gun again. Something hard caught him in the side, and he was flung across the room, somehow managing to hold onto his weapon. He skidded to a stop, but before he could get back on his feet, he felt it snake around him, gliding effortlessly around his body. The tendril constricted immediately, and he felt all the air leave his lungs. The beaks began their awful work at once, snapping down on him not unlike a spirited game of _Hungry Hungry Hippo's_. The beaks bit clean through his jacket, tearing chunks of meat as they snapped open and closed, like rows of mussels clumped together on the corpse of a drowned ship. He ground his teeth and summoned his own strength, managing to slip his arms through between the coils. He grabbed hard at the end of the tentacles, one of its beaks sampling his right forearm. He cried out in anger, and yanked the tendril as hard as he could. To his chagrin, he uprooted a long stretch of the wooden floors, and a buried length of root erupted from underground. It was simply too much, he realized, the infestation too deep. He stamped his boot down on the tentacle that still bound him, and began to tear and twist. He shredded the thick cord of muscle easily, and the entire thing began to shake and seizure violently on him. He yanked the dead thing off him, and flung it away, where it disappeared down the large chasm that had formed in the center of the room. There below, something growled at him.

It started as a low rumble, more felt than heard, the promise of an earthquake that sent animals to scatter. But this was no earthquake. The entire building began to shake as if in anger, and the rumble had grown painfully loud now, and in the din it was as if Levi heard voices now, a hundred if there was one, all calling out to him in a language he couldn't understand, all grunts and groans. _The tongues of dead men_. Their words were inhuman, painful and malformed, like a macaw trying to cozen a treat from a beak that had been nailed shut. Behind him, a large shelf of crates came crashing down, more of the foul worms exploding from the wreckage, slithering towards him hungrily. The voices reached a crescendo now, his ears ringing, and slowly the sound became words, _DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE_. It was like listening to a nonsense song over and over again until one's mind began to shape words where there were none. _If I was green, I would die, die, die_, he thought. And whether he imagined it or not, he felt the building begin to _laugh_ at him, like the songs of a million cicadas. The tentacles had edged closer now, one of them inspecting his boot in fascination, like a pale, blind mole. Only, moles weren't filled with more teeth than a shark.

"Enough," Levi said, raising his gun to the ceiling. He cocked the hammer back, the sound somehow reassuring, like a whispered word from a parent. For a second, the only thing that existed was the sound of the gunshot that filled the room.

The roof exploded overhead, metal beams and chunks of debris raining down upon him in a shower of dust. They crashed down at his feet, one hunk of metal sheeting managing to sever the tentacle nuzzling his leg. But more importantly, the sunlight came crashing through alongside the debris, spilling out into the dead, black abyss of the warehouse. Or, perhaps it would have, had the sun not been setting, perhaps minutes beforehand. Still, the warehouse was impossibly black, darker than the night itself, it seemed, and the meager amount of light looked to have been enough for the nonce. The voices stopped as suddenly as they began, the tendrils slithering away, back under the floorboards, back down into whatever Hell awaited him in the basement. _I need a lot more light_, he thought. He kicked the dead, but still-squirming tendril at his feet back down into the pit at the center of the warehouse's floor, where it vanished, like a penny dropped down a well, only he forgot to make the wish. More dust fell from the gaping hole he had made in the roof. He glanced upward, and to his surprise, he thought he imagined seeing a person up there. A boy, about his own age, he thought. Something fell from the kid's hands and landed about three feet away from Levi, rolling towards him. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was some kind of metallic canister, perhaps a bit taller than a coke can. It was about two seconds later when he realized it was a flash grenade.

...

The T-Car had been circling the warehouse from above, when the roof exploded. A massive jet of noxious green fire erupted from the roof, rocketing into the sky. Cyborg swore, and banked the craft into a hard right, away from the scene. The shot hadn't come particularly close to the vehicle, and the maneuver had been more out of precaution than reflex. From the backseat, Ava leaned forward, looking over the center console. The T-Car was a modern of marvel engineering, much liker her driver, and was outfitted with more bells and whistles than an entire orchestra, she knew. She glanced at the hole the had sprouted in the building, then back at the center console, which displayed some kind of HUD that looked to be a map of the city. Robin grimaced. He spoke gruffly into his communicator.

"Team, I'm headed down. Wait for my signal." And with that, the Boy Wonder was gone, falling out of the T-Car with all the grace of a flying squirrel. She watched as Robin extended his cape and began to glide weightlessly, touching down on the roof with the surefootedness of a figure skater.

"Does he always do that?" she asked, Cyborg, admiring the boy's skills.

"Yeah," Cyborg answered, cutting the wheel for another lap around the warehouse. Outside, Raven and Starfire kept pace alongside, the group flying as a unit counterclockwise around the facility, like a helicopter spotlighting a criminal fleeing through a residential neighborhood. "Rob always likes to make an entrance." Beside her, Beast Boy sat, uncharacteristically nervous, a grave look on his face. _Pre-game jitters? _she thought.

"What's wrong, Beast Boy" she asked, absentmindedly fiddling with the sword leaning between her knees. The boy startled, as if woken from a dream, and looked to her, as though he just now realized she had been there the whole time.

"There's something very … _wrong _with this place," he said finally, somehow unsure of it even himself. Her grip on her sword tightened. She felt it, too. _He's here after all_, she decided. But that made things more complicated. How could she steer the fight the way she wanted it to go from up here? What if he somehow tricked Robin into thinking he wasn't their enemy? What if he blew her cover? She couldn't take any chances; she had to end her target here and now, preferably with as little resistance from the Titans as possible.

Cyborg's voice was the last thing she heard as she tumbled out of the T-Car and began to fall.

...

Robin hit the ground light on his feet as usual. The alternative would have been messy, a loud landing that announced his presence to whoever was inside at the moment. Worse, with the roof weakened, it was likely the whole thing could have come crashing down alongside him. He crept over towards the edge of the hole, and peered down into the darkness. He couldn't make out much, the entire complex inside oppressively dark, old crates and shelves as far as the eye could see, which was admittedly not very far. The stench wafted up immediately, something rotten and putrid, almost like a ruptured sewage line, but more pungent and gamier, like jungle and earth. And at the center of it all was a boy, about his own age, he guessed. The boy was rough-looking and bloodied, and even from here Robin could see he was impossibly pale, like something that crawled out of a cave. In his hand dangled a gun, a ridiculous-looking cowboy six-shooter, a wisp of smoke dancing at the end of the barrel. Robin felt a stirring in the air. He backed away from the hole, and looked behind him. He felt a flash of anger as he saw Ava, dangling from a grapnel on the T-Car, and descending fast. She landed next to him, thankfully as light on her feet as he had been, and strapped her sword to her back.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed at the girl, doing his best to control his temper.

"I have a _bad_ feeling about this, Robin," she said, brushing what little hair she had out of her eye. "I think I know this guy," she admitted, motioning to the hole. His eyes narrowed.

"How do you know this guy?" he asked, wary. Nothing but a cool breeze passed between them, the sun almost gone now, drowning in the bay. She knew more than she was saying, that was obvious to him. "Ava, if you know something useful about this kid—_anything _that can help—now's the time to speak up."

"He's dangerous, Robin," she answered finally. "We can't take any chances on this one." He frowned at her. Was she going where he thought she was going with this?

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, studying her. She nodded to the canister attached to his belt. Her face was as unreadable as something carved out of stone. Robin didn't like this. Not any of it.

He nodded back.

...

Cyborg heard the scream from all the way up in the T-Car. It sounded inhuman, feral, and _ancient_, making what little hair he had left on his body stand up. Like it triggered something buried down deep in his DNA, the roar something saurian and terrible, grand and terrifying. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. _Did you hear that?_ he almost asked Beast Boy. His face told it all. He had heard it. He glanced out the window to see Starfire and Raven, who had stopped midair. They'd heard it, too. Before he could say anything, Rob's voice broke out from the communicator.

"Beast Boy! Raven! Inside, _now_! Star, Cy, fly the perimeter!"

Robin's voice died on the line. He banked left and cocked his head, getting a good view of the pair of them, Ava and Rob, out on the ceiling. He watched as they disappeared into the blackness of the warehouse, through the gaping hole that had been punched through the ceiling. He wondered what exactly awaited them down there, deciding it was nothing good. He spared a glance back to Beast Boy, who had managed to steel himself, game face on and everything. He found himself feeling somehow proud in that moment of his younger teammate. He said nothing, except, "Good luck, dude."

"Thanks, dude," the changeling replied, managing a nervous laugh. With that, he opened the door and flew away in the form of a pterodactyl, leathery wings beating hard against the cool air. He saw Raven next, watching as both the girl and boy disappeared down into the abyss of the warehouse.

"Good luck, dude," he found himself saying again.

...

Levi screamed, clawing at his eyes. For a time, all that existed was the color white, seared into his brain as if with a branding iron. And _pain_, his eyeballs feeling as if they were running down his face in a filmy, viscous soup. His ears pounded like the bell of a great cathedral, angry, angry, angry. He screamed some more, willing out more of his terrible power. He drew from that well of darkness only as little as he could force himself to take, the feeling of the dark power building inside him like the impossible rapture of some drug. He pulled himself up to his feet, his vision returning now. There were voices now, he could almost make out. He felt their presence as they dropped down from the roof, his attackers. He stumbled over behind a toppled shelf, thick with pustules of flesh, sure that they'd seen him go.

"Get out of here," he found himself saying, unable to contain the anger in his voice. "It's not _safe,_" he growled, the word somehow gaining an extra syllable.

"Drop the weapon," a voice echoed from somewhere in the room. The Boy's voice, he knew. The one that had blinded him. "Come out with your hands in the air." Was this guy being for real? "_Slowly_," he added a second later. _I'll show him slow_, he thought, or thought he thought, his fingers tightening around the pistol. The darkness was creeping through him now, he realized, whispering sweet nothings into his ear like a spider laying eggs.

"_Pleaaase_," Levi growled, struggling to get the word out. "Get the hell out of here," he pleaded, voice carrying out into the darkness. He felt the presence materialize behind him only too late.

Levi caught a glimpse of the beast as it batted him away as easily as one would an empty can. Levi crashed backwards into a shelf, and it came down on top of him, pinning him to the floor. He still had his gun, gripping onto it for dear life. In the darkness he saw the beast again, a hulking mass of fur and muscle barreling towards him like a train that had jumped its tracks. Without so much as a second thought, he raised his gun and fired.

The shot was good.

The blast had been so powerful it had not only stopped the beast in its tracks, but sent it flying backwards into a support beam. Its limp form struck the wood hard, splintering the beam almost completely. The beast—which Levi swore looked like a gorilla, only drenched in green paint—sagged lifelessly against the post. As though it were something out of a dream, he watched the creature shrink—_change_—and if he didn't know any better, he would have sworn he was looking not at a gorilla, but at a boy.

A boy who was not breathing.

Levi lifted the shelf that pinned him and crawled out from under it, a knot now forming in his throat. He made it all of two steps before something told him to stop moving. When he turned, he saw the naked edge of her sword before anything else, impossibly bright and somehow out of place there in the darkness, like the light of a strange, alien star.

_The girl_.

He turned to her. He didn't know what to say. Evidently, she didn't either, raising her blade for a killing stroke. He might have let her finish him then and there had the tendrils not seized him from the darkness.

"RAVEN, NO!" was all he heard as the tendrils seized him, these ones made of shadow, rather than wormflesh. They found his neck at once, and lifted him into the air, his feet flailing in protest at the bands of dark energy hoisted him upwards. The witch didn't step out of the darkness so much as she materialized from it, flowing from her like the cloak she wore. She was pale and terrifying, her face contorted with anger. Her eyes—all four of them—were like flame-licked caverns of some kind of Hell. Her hand was outstretched towards him, pinning him there like an insect in someone's collection. The other girl rushed him, sword arched, prepared to perform long division. The Boy from before was here now too, rushing towards the witch, panic written on his face. In that respect, the two of them were not so different. The witch waved her hand, and the girl and boy were both sent flying back into the darkness, where they disappeared, as if swallowed by it. The shadows drew tighter around his throat, and he wanted to scream. He made himself face the girl's gaze. In it, there was something familiar. Something he knew profoundly. Something that scared the hell out of him. Using his strength, he managed to free his hand, and pry the shadows that bound his throat apart just wide enough to let a few words slip out.

Levi spoke, managing a smile.

When the shadows snapped back at him again, he wasn't surprised. In fact, he didn't feel much else, besides the pain. And feel it he did. The shadow turned to a noose around his neck and squeezed so hard, he thought his eyes would pop out. The rest of his body was enveloped, and he was flung across the room. He managed to find a concrete wall, absorbing the impact about as well as a crash-test dummy. Something hot and wet trickled down his face. He was moving again. When he opened his eyes, he saw her again, waiting for him. He supposed she'd never really left. The gun, which he'd somehow managed to hold onto, slid out of his fingers and fell. To his chagrin, he found himself hovering over the giant pit in the middle of the room, Levi imaging a maw of hungry teeth below him in the darkness, swallowing his weapon, and soon, _him_. She raised her hand to him once more, and closed her fist.

The scream died in his throat when shadow drew taut around his neck.

The parts of him that weren't outright broken and ruined, he couldn't feel. His eyelids were heavy, each one heavier than the weight of the world. He could feel the power welling up inside him, a wall of dark water pressing against the dam of his soul. He closed his eyes, and told himself he didn't have a choice.

He opened the floodgates.

The world exploded into green fire, and Levi fell into the abyss below.

* * *

_Yikes_! See what happens when you piss off Raven?

Hopefully I won't keep you guys waiting too long on the next chapter, but I'm a bad person, so who knows? Thank you very much for reading.


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